


Breakdown

by HereForTheGerryMichael



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Gerry tries his best, Happy Ending, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Illness, Pre established relationship, Self Harm, michael has severe anxiety, positive response to a mental breakdown, vivid description of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:35:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23607676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereForTheGerryMichael/pseuds/HereForTheGerryMichael
Summary: Michael's anxiety is slowly getting the best of him, but rather than worry Gerry, he keeps it all in his head until he can't take it anymore.
Relationships: Gerard Keay & Michael, Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 108





	Breakdown

**Author's Note:**

> Please read with caution. This depicts a character at his lowest, and since it's based off things I know and anxiety responses I have seen / done, it might hit really close to home for some of you. If you want to read it, but you're at a low point, feel free to save this and come back to it when you're better. I love you. <3

Every day, when he woke up and saw the lump in the covers next to him, Michael fell in love all over again. He’d pull himself closer to the grumpy ball of blankets, not minding the cold bite of the air around him. Gerard would roll over, squinting and angry squint and mutter about fighting the sun. Sometimes, Michael would find himself laughing lightly at the smudges of eyeliner and mascara streaked across Gerry’s face and pillow. He’d lovingly remind him to take off all his makeup before bed, and Gerry, never a morning person, would mumble his reasons as he allowed himself to be tucked into Michael’s arms.   
Sometimes, Gerry would wake up screaming. Even these days, jolted awake by flailing limbs and choked sobs, Michael loved him. He’d remind Gerard where he was with reassuring whispers. Gerry would crawl, sobbing, into Michael’s lap, and they would be together.   
Of course, Gerry would help Michael as well. Michael would come home from work to a smoky house as Gerry attempted to follow a YouTube recipe. Sometimes, it would even turn out edible. Gerry always noticed when Michael was running out of hair ties before Michael did, and he found he always had a full, colorful bowl of them to choose from. What Gerry didn’t know, couldn’t know,was the sharp panic that hit Michael every time one of these soft acts of love was directed so clearly at him.   
When Gerry cleaned the mirrors for him, Michael wondered if he should have noticed they were getting smudged sooner. When Gerry tried to cook, so clearly unable to, Michael feared he should have left work sooner. Gerry shouldn’t have to buy his hair ties, or waste his money on scarves he felt suited Michael. He thanked Gerry every time, of course he did, and tried to make it up to him. He’d go through Gerry’s makeup and replace anything that had expired, or get up early and do a quick clean of the house before settling back in bed so Gerry wouldn’t notice his absence. He started staying later at work, trying to keep up with the little acts of kindness Gerry presented with offering to pay for anything they went to buy together. Gerry never seemed to see the stabbing pain in his chest when Michael failed to put his own card down first at a restaurant, or when he surprised Michael with going grocery shopping.   
What Gerry did notice was how tired Michael was getting. He had always had some makeup of his own, though he was too nervous to wear the pink lip tints and sparkly eyeliners outside of the house. When coverup was added to Michael’s tidy, colorful box of makeup, he noticed the first day. It took under a week to determine Michael must not be sleeping, as he seemed to use it mostly to hide the blue circles under his eyes. His eyes, Gerry noticed, were more dull than before, and his lips were cracked and dry. After two weeks of dodged questions and lack of eye contact, Gerry dropped by the Institute to surprise Michael with flowers. He found his love standing in front of a bookshelf, staring blankly at the titles, his nails scratching against his wrists in a thoughtless manner that seemed to have managed to draw blood. He jumped when Gerry put his hand on his shoulder, but quickly settled with a soft smile. 

“Oh! Oh, Gerry, what are you doing here?” He laughs, but it’s a dry, scratchy laugh. A week ago, Gerry had assumed he was just sick. Now, he isn’t sure.   
“I brought you something,” he says as casually as he can, trying not to look at the blood under Michael’s nails. His pastel cardigan hides whatever injury put it there. Michael takes the flowers with one hand, and puts his other on Gerry’s cheek for a quick kiss.   
“Thank you. What for?” Michael looks over the flowers, simple tulips, but likely the most colorful thing Gerry could find for him. He tries to prevent his breath from hitching in fear of having forgotten an anniversary, or worse, he had done something wrong.   
“Because I love you. I thought you could put them on your desk. Some color, you know.” Gerry tries not to make it obvious he’s worried. Michael smiles and gives a quick nod. He looks like he’s about to say something else, when someone calls for him to help. He gives a sharp sigh and a small sideways smile.   
“I will, thank you. I’ll see you tonight. I want to make fish, if that’s alright?” He hardly waits for a response, and Gerry is left in the archives, more worried than before. 

Dinner went fine. Michael talked about his day, and even offered a few tips he had overheard about some suspicious books. When dinner was done, and Michael had cleaned the dishes (he insisted nearly to the point of tears, so Gerry allowed him), Michael looked like he was about to fall asleep standing up, and Gerry ushered him to bed.   
Michael curled up under a single thin sheet, dressed in his favorite fuzzy pajama pants and one of Gerry’s hoodies. With his makeup off and his face relaxed, he looks awful. Circles so dark it almost looks like he was punched in the face. If Gerry didn’t know the ins and outs of bruising, he’d think Michael had been beat up. His eyes dart to Michael’s phone on the nightstand, and he picks it up.   
To go through Michael’s phone would be a horrible invasion of privacy, he knows that. Gerard never thought he’d be the type to do it, but after guessing Michael’s password (Gerry’s birthday) he was able to convince himself this time, it was okay. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Michael, after all. He was worried about his safety.   
The phone gave little to explain his situation. Emails were mostly from work, with the occasional spam advertisement. His search history had been cleared recently, and apparently all he had looked up within the past week was music and the nearest cat cafe. His photos were mostly of Gerry, or the two of them together, with a few screenshots of sappy poetry he must have found before clearing his history. Feeling defeated (and like a total ass), Gerry starts to put the phone down, but stops. One last thought comes to mind, and he opens Michael’s alarms.   
3:00 am. 5:00 am. 7:00 am. Gerry frowns. Michael got up at seven for work, sure, but three? Five? He and Michael had joked in the past about Gerry’s habit of sleeping through alarms, so it’s very possible Michael had been getting up early and he just hadn’t noticed.  
Finally, Gerry puts the phone down, and settles down in bed beside Michael. He watches his boyfriend’s sleeping face for a moment before gently reaching out and pushing up one of his sleeves.   
Gerry has seen many injuries in his life. Many much, much worse than the angry red lines crossing Michael’s arm, but this makes him recoil like nothing has in a long time. For a moment, Gerard doesn’t remember how to breathe. Slowly, he pulls his hand back. Shakily, he kisses Michael’s cheek. As Gerry settles down to sleep, he tries to think of how to talk to Michael about it. As it turns out, he doesn’t need a plan.   
Gerry wakes up crying, but this time, there’s no gentle pull. No soft whispers easing him back to reality. Already in a panic, Gerry gets out of bed. The floor is cold against his feet. The light under the bathroom door is a searingly bright line to tired eyes, with a dark shadow across it, almost hiding the shimmering red seeping out from under the bathroom door.   
“Michael? Shit- Michael?!” Gerry grabs the doorknob, but the bathroom is locked. He searches the room quickly, grabbing a lamp and bringing it down sharply, breaking it off. Gerry swings the bathroom door open, sending the bits of doorknob flying across the floor, and drops to his knees, lightly hitting Michael’s still face.   
It’s less blood than he assumed, thankfully. Judging from the other injuries, the discarded knife, and the blood on Michael’s right hand, he hadn’t meant to go this far. Gerry tries to ease his panic with the thought that this was an accident as he takes a hand towel and fixes it to Michael’s arm with a sparkly blue hair tie. 

The phone call is a blur, much like the ambulance ride. Michael wakes up about halfway to the hospital, and all Gerry can really remember is his fumbling to find an excuse for what had happened. Michael ends up with fourteen stitches in various places on his arm. A number for a hotline, and a heavy suggestion to get a therapist. By the time the two of them are sitting in the lobby, waiting for a ride home, it’s getting dark out. Gerry hardly remembers anything. Michael won’t look at him, but doesn’t pull away when Gerry kisses his cheek.   
Michael stands in their living room for twenty minutes, spaced out, as Gerry collects every sharp thing he can find. He stares at the broken bathroom door, the screws and bits of metal scattered across the floor, and the glass from the lightbulb that must have shattered when Gerry discarded the lamp. He must have started to scratch at his stitches, because Gerry ends up having him sit while he wraps a loose bandage over them. Finally, his voice broken and not like any way he had heard Michael speal before, he breaks the silence.   
“I didn’t mean to,” he whispers. Gerry nods, taking Michael’s hands in his own.   
“So. . . what was it you were trying to do instead?” he asks. Michael’s eyes shine with tears, and he rests his head on the back of the couch.   
“I- I don’t know, nothing, I suppose? Please, can we forget it?” His voice is so strained, Gerry is tempted to do anything he says. But allowing Michael to dance around his problems lead to where they are now, and he won’t let things get worse than they already have.   
“Okay, uh, let’s start here. You were upset, right?” Gerry asks. Michael nods.  
“Yes, um, I was, I suppose.”   
“Upset at anything, or just upset?”   
“Upset at myself.” Michael looks back down when he says it, and Gerry squeezes his hands lightly. This is clearly hard for him, but they’re getting somewhere.  
“Why were you upset with yourself?” he asks gently.   
“I- I don’t do enough here and-”   
“Shh, okay, deep breath. You do more than enough, okay?”   
“But I don’t!” The pain in Michael’s voice almost makes Gerry wince, but he holds still.   
“But you- okay. What don’t you think you do enough of?”   
“Everything!”   
“Do you think you need to do everything?”   
“No- well, yes, I suppose.”   
“Why do you think you need to do everything?” Gerry presses. Michael looks up again, and Gerry sees his eyes are more focused now. His hands have stopped their shaking, instead just twitching now and then.   
“If I make you do things, you might get sick of me and leave,” Michael mutters. Gerry’s face softens, and he leans forward to kiss the tip of Michael’s nose.   
“I love you. I love doing things for you. Have you been getting up early?”   
“Yeah. To tidy up.”   
“Michael, it’s okay to have me do things in our relationship. When I’m home, I don’t have a steady job like you do. It’s not a problem for me to go dust the shelves, or buy you flowers, or ruin your frying pans trying to cook.”   
At that, Michael laughs. It’s short lived, but it doesn’t sound nearly as broken as Gerry expected it to. He leans forward and rests his forehead on Gerry’s shoulder.   
“I thought I came home to a house fire that day.”   
“And I thought you were finally going to be done with me. We both get scared, Michael, it’s okay. Is that why you hurt yourself?” Against his shoulder, Gerry feels a nod.   
“It- at first, I felt like I deserved it. I wasn’t enough and I deserved to get hurt,” he says, voice just above a whisper.   
“And now?”   
“It made me calm down. When I got shaky or scared, I could focus on that.” Judging from the wet drips onto his shirt, Michael is crying again. Gerry lets go of his hard and hugs him, rocking him gently. It’s a bit awkward, with Michael being so much taller and hunched over, but that hardly matters right now.   
“Okay. That, um, I’m no doctor, but that sounds like you got yourself addicted to it. I’m going to help you, okay? You’re going to get better, and I’ll be here whenever you need me. I want to be here, Michael, you’re so important to me. Fuck, I- I know the feeling. Feeling like you can’t do anything right, like everything you do is somehow wrong. But it isn’t, okay? It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”   
Michael nods again, and shifts so he can properly lie in Gerry’s lap and across his shoulder. They sit like that, Gerry gently rocking Michael, rubbing his back and telling him ways to help, until eventually Michael stops responding. Gerry sighs, scooping up his sleeping boyfriend and taking him back to their room. It had been a horrible day, but as he braids Michael’s hair and tucks him into bed, Gerry can’t help but smile. Things will be hard, sure, but Michael talked to him. They talked, and they’ll come up with a plan. 

It’s going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> As someone who suffers from several mental illnesses, I can assume most people who choose to read this are in the same boat. It gets better, you will have your happy ending. Trust me, I know it doesn't feel like it. It feels like it's all spiraling away from you and there's nothing to hold, but this isn't forever. The Trevor Project has a really rad hotline I've called before, you can also text them. let the people that love you help you. Let yourself love you, even when you don't feel you're worth it. You are. You got this.


End file.
